


Three shades of a man

by bitsandbobsandstuff



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Happy Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Sex makes it better, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, sad bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-20 22:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11930502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsandbobsandstuff/pseuds/bitsandbobsandstuff
Summary: He spoke several words, his voice low and harsh, but each syllable was selected carefully. They were the only sounds of softness you knew you could expect from him tonight."You want me here?"Your voice is firm when you respond. "Always."His metal fingers twitch, the pads of his fingers unconsciously rubbing together as he continues watching you. "You'll stop me if it's too much?"





	1. Dark, rigid, controlling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky - or is this the Soldier? - spoke only a few words, his voice low and harsh, but each syllable was selected carefully. They were the only sounds of softness you knew you could expect from him tonight.
> 
> "You want me here?"
> 
> Your voice is firm when you respond. "Always."

You have seen him at his best, at his worst, and every variation between, but there are three distinct shades of Bucky Barnes that shine bright in your mind. Each is unique and complex, the layered expressions of a man who has been to the deepest corners of hell, but still retained the good heart he had before he was lost in the snow.

In those times when he struggles to cope with everything, he comes to you in the dead of night, wordlessly asking for an intimacy to help him deal with all he has seen and done. It was different every time, what he needed from you to survive himself, and it was in these moments you saw the shades behind the mask he wore in front of the world.

 _Dark, rigid, controlling._  
_Anxious, desperate, panicked._  
_Calm, relieved, playful._

You loved every single part of him, patiently and unequivocally, no matter what he did or who he became, and he clung desperately to that acceptance, never understanding why you offered it, but taking everything you were willing to give him.

* * *

  
It had been three weeks since you last heard from him. It was unusual, but not unexpected, you always anticipated circumstances beyond his control. It was finally Steve who texted you in the hours before they arrived home, giving you a succinct update on the mission. It was a deal the two of you had struck, where he gave you the honest details, no matter how horrifying, so you knew what to expect. Although Bucky would always text you, his context never varied - everything was fine. It was Steve's constant worry about his best friend's mental state, that enabled his forthright delivery of information, and even when it was hard to hear, you were immensely grateful.

They called this mission a success, but that came at a heavy price, and lives were lost in the process. Even when he knew there was nothing he could have done, Bucky would struggle to find his way around this, taking the loss personally.

When he hit these devastating lows, when the demons that followed him across the years caught up, he turned into someone new, and you expected a very different Bucky Barnes to arrive on your doorstep. The mask came down, and he became cold, hard, rough. Cracked around the edges, but with every movement precisely calculated and controlled. You would never tell him, but this demeanour was exactly your vision of the Winter Soldier. Even though Bucky did everything in his power to separate himself from the Soldier, there were deep rooted coping mechanisms that remained, left behind after decades of experiences.

Darkness fell early that evening, the promised thunderstorm finally breaking with the force of a hurricane, screaming winds, driving rain, and sheets of lightning crackling across the night sky. You gazed out your bedroom window at the rolling clouds. It didn't change anything, you knew he would still come. Putting on one of his old t-shirts, you curled up on your bedspread, folding your hands beneath your head and tucking your knees to you chest. And there you waited.

There was a terrific clap of thunder, and you bolted up, disoriented in the black room, not realising you had fallen asleep. The faint glow from the bedside clock read 2am, and you could feel a light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the air in the room pressing down, heavy and still. Laying back, you forced yourself to calm your breathing, and that's when you heard it. The faintest creak of leather, as of someone drawing a soft breath, followed by the quiet rattle of a metal buckle. The skin on the back of your neck prickled, the fight or flight instinct coming fast. You slowly sat up, and there he was. Sitting in the old blue chair in the corner of your room, he was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, metal and flesh hand clasped tightly together. His head was bowed, lank strands of brown hair falling forward like a curtain across his face.

"Bucky?" Your voice was barely more than a whisper, cautious, hesitant. He made no movement, appearing not to hear, but you knew his sensitive hearing was strong enough to catch the sound.

So you waited. You've been here before.

Minutes passed, both of you tense in the silence. After a time, his head lifted, guarded blue eyes locking on you, and even in the darkness of the room you could see the anger in his face. With an unnaturally fast movement, he came to his feet, the sheer breadth of his body filling the small space. He took two measured steps toward the bed, where he paused and looked down at where you sat on your knees, looking up at him.

He spoke several words, his voice low and harsh, but each syllable was selected carefully. They were the only sounds of softness you knew you could expect from him tonight.

"You want me here?"

Your voice is firm when you respond. "Always."

His metal fingers twitch, the pads of his fingers unconsciously rubbing together as he continues watching you. "You'll stop me if it's too much?"

It's not a question, but a command, one he will forever insist on stating, even though you've never once been compelled to stop him. But you nod shortly, giving him what he needs.

With his guardrails in place, the levee breaks. Reaching forward, he gently grips your throat, the metal fingers flexing as they stroke the delicate skin. His thumb traces over your bottom lip before he abruptly shoves, knocking you backward to land on your back. Your feet slip out from under your hips, and his hands fall immediately on your ankles, gripping them so hard you can feel the nails on his flesh hand leaving deep indents in your skin. He drags you roughly to the edge of the bed, and you feel the fabric of the duvet burn your skin as you slide.

He leaves you there for a moment, still holding your ankles, and let's his eyes roam across your body. With your legs splayed open, chest rising and falling, you watch his face. You see his nostrils flare slightly before he slams your knees back together, and balances your legs on his shoulder. Leaning forward, his fingers snag the waistband of the sleep shorts you wore and he jerks them down. You lift your hips to help him, and once they're off, he throws them to the side. He drops your legs back to the bed with a sudden push, and steps back.

"Spread your legs. Put your fingers in your cunt, get them wet."

Bucky's voice is hoarse when the words are ground out. You follow his instructions, propping up your feet and opening your legs wide. Fingers trembling slightly, you reach down and brush your fingers across your clit before pushing two fingers deep into your pussy. It forces an immediate reaction, the breath leaving your lungs with a gasp, your hips arching off the bed to meet your hand. You repeat the movement, but agonisingly slowly, because you know this is what he wants to see.

"Good. Fuck yourself with your fingers until you come."

You hear his breathing pick up as he watches your hand pumping in and out, and you keep your eyes locked on him.

"Another finger. Now." The directive is sharp, and you comply instantly, adding a third finger and sighing at the feeling. Again and again, you thrust your fingers deep into your cunt, picking up a consistent rhythm.

Bucky's eyes are nearly black with lust as he stands above you, staring down from his formidable height and watching you writhe in front of him. This is part of his process, holding himself back from touching you, a self-punishment he needs to complete. His hands remain at his sides, clenched in fists so tight you're surprised the metal and bone don't shatter. He's forced himself to watch this way for hours in the past, as you use your fingers and a number of devices to come for him over and over, moaning his name and begging for him, while he holds himself just out of reach. For him, the denial of his pleasure is a balm that soothes away the pain and regret from the mission. For you, it is extraordinarily frustrating, and it's the only part of your relationship with him that you dislike.

The tightening in the pit of your stomach is the first indication that you're close, and you move your fingers faster, reaching down with your other hand to rub your clit. The moment your finger makes contact, you're pushed over the edge, arching up with a cry as you come on your fingers. You feel your eyes flutter shut, but his voice cuts through the haze.

"Look at me. Keep your eyes open." At this, Bucky's name falls repeatedly from your lips, as you focus on his face. His eyes narrow, pure lust twisting his features, and you know he's not done with this.

"Do it again."

You float slowly down from the high, before taking several deep breaths and beginning again. Twice more, Bucky asks you to bring yourself to orgasm, and both times you give him exactly what he needs. By the end, your fingers are slick and coated in your cum, tears leaking from your eyes at the intense sensations crashing through you. He stands rigid in front of you, silent as he watches, but you see drops of sweat dripping down his face, and you know how difficult it's been for him to stay still.

This time when you finish, he doesn't speak, and you are thankful for the reprieve. Instead, he reaches forward and hooks his fingers in the collar of your white shirt, a low rumble of approval in his chest when he notices it's his shirt covering you. He fists his hand in the fabric and yanks your body upright, before sliding you forward to sit with legs hanging from the edge of the bed. He steps between your knees and tugs the shirt over your head, dropping it on the floor. Completely naked now, you are eye level with the very obvious erection his black tactical gear cannot conceal. Licking your lips, you tilt your head up to look at him, keeping your hands at your side, waiting for the moment he allows personal contact again.

He remains completely silent, his long sigh utterly noiseless when he reaches for his belt buckle, the metal clicking when he quickly undoes it. Once it's unhooked, he unsnaps the pants, and tugs down the zipper, before pushing them down only far enough to free his cock. This is all of him you will see tonight. When he's like this, he won't permit any skin on skin contact with you, except his hands and his dick. He desperately needs to see every sinful inch of your body, but he finds heavy fault with every part of himself, and refuses to allow any other contact. You had tried in the past to convince him to relent, but it was no use.

Tangling his metal fingers in your hair, Bucky holds tight and takes a step back, pulling you down to your knees in front of him. With his right hand, he finally touches himself, hissing through his teeth at the feeling, and he gives himself several slow strokes. You reach forward and grip the canvas fabric of his pants, balancing your hands on his thighs, while you wait. He looks down at you, so submissive and calm on your knees, and the sound of his breath is ragged, when he touches the tip of his cock to your lips. Your tongue comes out, licking him gently, eyes closing at the intoxicating taste of his skin. He shudders violently, the spasm wracking his entire body, flowing through his hand and transferring to you.

" _Wait_."

The word is coloured with a hint of panic, so you stop immediately, knowing he needs to collect his bearings before he continues. You part you lips and look up at him, leaning into the hand that's twisted in your hair. He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear his mind and ground himself in the moment, and then he refocuses his full attention on you.

It will be harsh, you know this. Bucky wraps both hands in your hair now, and with no warning, thrusts his hips forward, shoving his cock deep in your mouth. He hits the back of your throat hard, and you gag around his length, your hands automatically tapping his thighs. He pulls out and without pause, shoves himself in again. This time, you control the gag reflex and open up your throat, and he slides in easily. He gives a strangled groan above you, quickly trying to swallow the sound. It feel's _so fucking_ _good_ , he lets himself realise that, but does everything in his power to stop from showing it, because he shouldn't have this, he doesn't deserve this from you.

His pace picks up, hips slamming forward as he fucks your face and you feel the pressure when his heavy balls slap against your jaw, soft groans coming from deep in his throat. Still gripping your head, he pushes in again, and this time he holds you down, keeping his dick buried in your throat, until you feel the tiny black hairs around the base of his cock tickle your nose.

"Hold there, _there_. Stay down, yes _fucking Christ_."

The whispered profanities drip from his mouth, like filthy black honey and you moan at the words, and look up at him, eyes swimming in tears. The vibrations from your throat and the picture of you looking up at him with your lips wrapped tightly around his cock are nearly enough to throw him over the edge.

He pulls out before he can lose himself, stepping back hastily. You feel yourself start to fall forward, chasing him, and he catches you. Gripping tightly under your arms, he drags you roughly to your feet and spins you around, holding your back flush against his heaving chest. It's a feeling of absolute vulnerability, your nudity and his fully clothed frame. Against your smooth skin, you can feel the bite of the metal buckles and straps that cover his vest, your bare toes treading on his heavy black combat boots.

His hands are everywhere now, finding your breasts, pinching your nipples viciously, rolling them between his fingertips. You sigh as the pain and pleasure battle each other, creating electric sparks that skitter across your body. Leaning your head back against his shoulder, you feel his erection pressing hard against the soft skin of your back, his length burning hot and covered in your saliva. He rubs himself against you, grunting in your ear at the friction. His metal fingers leave your breast and trail down your stomach, reaching your pussy. You feel a twinge of discomfort, a soreness from the earlier orgasms you forced from yourself, but he disregards this, and the metal is cold when he flicks your clit. Your body jerks at the touch, and Bucky holds you tight against his chest when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and shoves two fingers deep into your cunt.

The scream is torn from you, and Bucky's hand leaves your breast, reaching up to wrap securely around your throat, muffling the sound. He massages your neck, applying hard pressure every few strokes, momentarily stopping your air flow, leaving you gasping. You lay your hand on top of his, following his movements, your fingers twitching when he presses against your vocal cords. Your left hand reaches behind you, curving around his neck and pulling his lips to your ear where you can hear him panting harshly. His neck is slick with sweat, and you tangle your fingers in his hair to keep a strong grip, the damp strands falling forward to brush your cheek.

The cold metal feels white hot now, as his fingers thrust into you, his thumb rubbing quickly across your clit. His voice was an octave lower than you've ever heard, when he bit your earlobe and growled into your ear.

"Want you to come all over my fingers. Come again for me, _come on_."

His hand sped up, fingers fucking into you hard and fast now, and you nearly sobbed with the sensation. With your hand entwined in his hair, you pulled harshly, your knees giving out as the orgasm hit you, voice cracking when you call out his name. Bucky holds you up, working you through the feeling, snarling fiercely when your firm grip nearly tears his hair out. The edges of your vision fold inward, as the waves hit you again and again.

There was no respite, you barely caught your breath before he pulls his fingers from your cunt and shoves you forward to the bed, where you land on your hands and knees. He won't join you there, he never does. He would fuck you in any way possible, on the floor, against a wall, or simply standing by the bed, but after these missions, he would never ever allow himself the comfort of those soft blankets.

His hands latch onto your hips, you can feel his metal fingers hot and slick with your cum as they press your hipbone, the wetness quickly cooling. He is tense and unyielding above you, and you expect deep purple bruises scattered over your hips in the morning, evidence of the force behind his grip. You can't see his face, but you can feel his arms trembling, hear his rapid breathing, and you know he won't last much longer.

It is always at this point when you brace yourself for his rough treatment before he finishes. You feel him adjust his stance behind you, steadying himself, and with a punishing snap of his hips, he drives into you. Although you have slept with Bucky Barnes more times than you can count, when he does this, it always feels like the first time. His cock is so thick, it burns when he stretches your overly sensitive pussy. You press you face into the blanket to muffle the scream, as he fucks brutally into you. He fists his hand in your hair yet again and forces your head up, hissing down at you.

"No, get your fucking head up. I want to hear you, let me hear all of it."

You willingly oblige him, the moans dropping from your mouth with every harsh thrust. The sound of his belt buckle makes an obscene clanking sound as his hips slam into you, reminding you again that he hovers above you fully clothed while you lay below him, naked and so unbelievably willing.

He tugs your hair one final time, pulling you to your knees, his pace never slowing. Wrapping an arm across your chest, he pins your back to him, and his hips shift their angle, grinding up into you. His hand returns to your clit, and he presses those metal fingers to you one more time, trying to coax the last orgasm from your exhausted body.

"Stop Bucky, I can't, I can't," you choke out, the emotion so overwhelming you try futilely to push his hand away, tears pricking your eyes.

"Yes you can, I can feel you, how wet you are for me. I _need_ this, let me have it, give me one more."

His fingers move faster and faster, and when he presses his lips to the back of your neck and sucks hard, you lose control, crying out as the combination of his fingers and his dick working together topples you into the abyss. When your pussy contracts around him, you feel his rhythm stutter, and with whimpered, broken curses tumbling from his lips, he comes inside you.

He holds you tightly for a few more moments, letting both of you spiral down from the blissful high. With a tentative lick and a feather light kiss to the bite on your shoulder, he pulls out and steps away, tucking his dick back into his pants, and closing his belt. He disappears into the bathroom, and reappears with a glass of water and a damp washcloth, but when he reaches the bed he stops. Still naked and curled into a ball, you are already asleep on top of the duvet. Bucky feels his heart ache as he looks down at you, the washcloth dangling from his fingers. Every single time he comes to you this way, you meet him head on, giving him everything he needs to set his mind straight again. He genuinely can't understand why you allow him in your life this way, it was more than he ever hoped to have.

He sets the glass of water on your nightstand and leans over the bed, gently picking you up, cradling you in his arms. With his other hand, he flips back the covers and settles you under them, pulling the blanket snugly around your naked body. You sigh in your sleep, a small smile tugging up the corners of your lips. He takes the damp cloth and lightly wipes away the sweat from your forehead, before tucking your hair behind your ear, his knuckles tracing down your cheek. He would stand here all night just to watch you sleep if he could, but his time is up, and he has to go.

He presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and quietly leaves.


	2. Anxious, desperate, panicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky raises his eyes to where you stand. His voice is so low you strain to hear, but the anxious hesitancy in his words comes through clearly, the sound nearly breaking your heart.
> 
> "Am I - are you - is it okay if I'm here?"
> 
> Your voice is firm when you respond with the answer you will forever, without fail, give him. "Always."

The day was drenched in a silvery grey mist that seemed unable to clear. It blanketed the city around you, snaking through streets and alleys, finding the cracks and crevices of every building, overflowing into any space it could find. It made you feel restless, itchy, like you were waiting for something to happen.

It had been two weeks since you last spoke to Bucky, the only communication in that time was a photo he texted you, of a deep red sunrise illuminating the craggy black rocks of a mountain range. You didn't know where, or what he was doing, but he liked to send you pictures when he could. He said sunrises always reminded him of you - a beautiful vision that made him open his eyes and keep moving forward. That evening, you responded with a picture of a dazzling sunset, swirls of purple and orange painting the sky. You said sunsets always reminded you of him - an explosion of wild colour and brilliant light, a perfect end to the day.

This time it was Nat who texted you. It happened sometimes, if Steve was caught up with something else, but it was rare. You saw the green bubble pop up in the screen, the words flashing, and in that moment, you felt your heart plummet.

_There's been an accident._

You always thought it was a metaphor, when someone said their blood turned to ice, but you were wrong. The feeling of absolute panic, of everything in your body freezing in place, it was stunning and awful and epically real.

_Steve's been shot. Twice actually. He's fine, just going to be sore. He asked me to tell you._

The breath you held was released in a rush, and you felt your blood moving again, loud in your ears. Sighing, you text Nat thanks. Steve Rogers is one of the most important people in your life, but right now you hate yourself for the sliver of relief that ripples through you, knowing it was Steve, not Bucky. Stopping to examine that feeling won't make you feel any better about yourself, so you let it go.

You know how Bucky will take this. You've seen it happen when other members of the team were hurt on a mission, but his behaviour change is especially potent when it comes to Steve. Or when it comes to you.

It's early evening, but you slip into sleep clothes anyway, a long sleeve grey shirt and blue sweatpants, enough to keep you warm from the damp air crawling along your floorboards. Throwing a blanket on your lap, you settle on the sofa with a book.

And there you wait.

The knock on your door is short, three quick taps that startle you awake, and a bleary-eyed glance at your phone shows 12:15am. Pressing your palms to your face, you try to rub the sleep from your eyes, as you stumble to your feet, switching on a small lamp to illuminate your path.

You take a deep breath and open the door slowly to find Bucky leaning heavily into the frame, hands gripping the edges to prop himself up, his eyes focused on his boots. The fog is still so thick even in the black night, and it curls around his bulky frame, softening his features. His broad shoulders fill your doorway, and every muscle in his body looks tense, making you wonder if he would shatter at the slightest touch. There are dark shadows under his eyes, he looks as though he hasn't slept in days, and you know it's a likely possibility.

You could see every mark on him the mission had left, the worry, the uncertainty, the exhaustion, all etched deeply into every line of his face. He raises his eyes to where you stand.

His voice is so low you strain to hear, but the anxious hesitancy in his words comes through clearly, the sound nearly breaking your heart.

"Am I - are you - is it okay if I'm here?"

Your voice is firm when you respond with the answer you will forever, without fail, give him. "Always."

He nods, but doesn't move, still watching your face, eyes flickering over your expression. He won't come in the house of his own volition, he still needs you to pull him in before he accepts your answer. With a small smile, you reach forward and touch the metal fingers gripping the frame, massaging the plates on each individual finger, unlocking them one by one until he releases his grip. Linking your fingers with his, you lead him over the threshold and into your apartment. Once he crosses the door, he kicks it shut with the heel of his boot and gives up, collapsing against you, and you catch him before you both stumble into the wall. His arms lock tightly around you, his lips press desperately against yours, and here he stops. A simple kiss in its purest form, he takes long moments to reacquaint his mouth with you, and you let yourself melt into him. 

His eyes are closed when he sighs and finally breaks away, speaking quietly, his lips still touching yours, and you hear the unease that has settled in his voice. "Nothing about that went well. There were - screams. So much smoke, bullets hitting glass. I saw Steve get hit" He pauses here, tries to organise his thoughts before continuing.

"It - I was - I didn't know what to do." He sounds surprised by his statement, unsure if it's something he's allowed to vocalise. He breaths heavily through his nose, jaw clenched, and you can feel his body tightening, almost see the frustrated panic dripping from him.

He feels so helpless, his heart racing, when the words rush out. "I need you, all of you, please. Need to be close to you, touch you, taste you, just fucking be _inside_ you. _Please_." The final word is a whispered plea, one he never needs to make, but his desperation moves him to make his case anyway. You both knew, the skin on skin contact he craved from you, it was his best hope of grounding himself when this happened, of bringing his anxiety back under control.

You hold his face between your palms, nudging your nose against his, your eyes closed as you breathe in his scent, a familiar smell of sweat and mint and leather, nodding your head as his words wash over you. It's all he needs to proceed.

Keeping his lips firmly attached to yours, he walks you backward, easily navigating the angles of your apartment. He doesn't actually kiss you, just needs his lips to be somehow _on you_. You never know where to begin with his gear, but for him it's second nature and his hands make quick work, reaching for the snaps, the buckles, the zippers, and he twists and pulls the canvas and leather, shedding the clothing as you shuffle slowly together.

In these moods, Bucky could never get close enough to you, his need for every inch of you to touch every inch of him was so markedly different. It felt sometimes as though he wanted to burrow under your skin, disappear into you, to help him cope with everything. 

Without saying a word, his body automatically veers toward the bathroom, stopping in front of the shower doors, and you understand immediately what he wants. He runs his hands under the soft grey shirt, tugging it over your head, while you push down the sweatpants you wore. He pauses to simply run his fingers up and down your body, touching lightly here and there, drawing patterns over your shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers caressing your nipples, stroking your stomach, thumbs rubbing circles on your hipbones. It's a touch purely meant to memorise, not to ravish, and you close your eyes at intimacy of it.

He leans forward, opening his mouth to you again, and you hear a faint whimper escape his throat. You reach for the hem of his black undershirt, and he lifts his arms like a child, allowing you to pull it over his head, before he pushes down his black boxers, and neatly kicks them aside.

Reaching for the knobs, you turn the shower as hot as you know you can stand, the steam rising quickly to billow around you both. Even though his body runs abnormally hot, after all those years spent in cryofreeze, Bucky always imagines he's cold, and he insists every shower be as hot as humanly possible. When the temperature is right, you slide your hands up his arms to grip his biceps and guide him forward, and he follows you obediently into the shower, wrapping his arms around your waist, sighing with relief when the pounding spray hits his back. 

He rests his forehead against yours, and the water blankets you both, running in rivers between you, dripping from his hair, from your nose, as you stand together. He takes deep focused breaths, exhaling through his mouth, and you drink in his warm breath when it hits your lips. You let your fingers drift to the thick scars that mar his skin, where metal meets flesh, and you run your fingers reverently over the raised ropes of tissue, turning your head to press gentle kisses down the juncture. You can feel his body trembling, his breathing uneven, and suddenly his legs give out and he slides down to his knees, burying his face in the softness of your belly, his arms clutched tightly around your waist. He stays this way, kneeling in front of you, letting the water rush over him, completely still except for the occasional tremor that shakes his body. You tangle your hands in his wet hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, fingers moving back and forth, letting him work his way back out of this. 

He tilts his head back to look up at you, locks of dark hair hanging in his eyes, and you brush them back and smile down at him, watching the way the water runs into the stubble covering his jaw, suspended for a brief moment before it falls from his chin. He presses a kiss right below your belly button, before rising heavily to his feet. Reaching around you, he turns off the water, and steps dripping onto the rug, grabbing two large towels. You can feel your teeth start to chatter from the cool air, and Bucky immediately swings the bath sheet around your shoulders, patting you down, carefully drying every part of your skin. He stands in front of you, naked and unconcerned by the fact, intent only on making sure you stay warm.

"You're going to freeze Buck," you chided softly, nudging him to grab his towel, and he gives you a half-hearted smile, before picking it up and quickly scrubbing it over his long limbs, giving a brief rub through his hair. He's barely dry before he throws the towel aside and turns to face you. You can feel your heart jump at the look on his face, and without a word, you drop the towel and step into his arms. He reaches behind you to grip your ass, and when he lifts you effortlessly, you loop your arms around his neck, and lock your legs tightly around his waist. You can feel his length pressed against your centre, and you let out a small moan when his lips crash down on yours.

He follows the familiar path to your bedroom, and placing a knee on the edge, he eases you both back onto the bed, his mouth never leaving yours. Once you're settled comfortably, Bucky pulls back to look at you, and you find an unreadable look in his eyes. You open your mouth to question him, but he leans forward, and licks tentatively at the corner of your mouth, tongue swiping across your lips, before trailing down to your jaw. You forget what you needed to ask. Tilting your head back, you offer him the curve of your neck, and his breath is hot against your skin as his lips kiss down to find the feel of your pulse. His mouth stays there, tongue pressed to the tiny beat as it flutters against your skin and Bucky wonders if this is what a hummingbirds heartbeat must feel like.

He continues his exploration down, small open mouthed kisses scattered across your shoulders, his nose tracing the outline of your collarbone when he gently sucks your skin in the hollow beneath. Back and forth, both sides of your body, he tastes your skin again and again, welcoming the familiar flavour, the feel of you shower warm, slick and pliable under his tongue. 

Gripping tightly to your ribcage, his hands float up to cup your breasts, his fingers stroking the soft underside, while his thumbs brush over your nipples. He pushes your breasts together before pressing his tongue flat in your cleavage and licking slowly upward. Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear him groaning softly, his tongue capturing the stray droplets of water that still cling to you. You can feel him roll his hips unconsciously against your core, when his lips drift over to capture your nipple, pulling at the sensitive peak, drawing it into his mouth. He moves back and forth, grazing your nipples with his teeth, tugging them with his lips, the stubble of his rough beard creating an exquisite friction on your skin.

He stays there, stroking his hands up and down the sides of your body, licking and sucking, nipping with his teeth, until you feel your body tingling. You can't stop yourself, jolting your hips up at him, feeling the ache between your legs grow with every swipe of his tongue. Tangling your hands in his hair, you push down begging him to please, please go lower.

Bucky chuckles at your voice, and your heart leaps when you hear it, the first real sound of happiness he's given tonight. You give his hair a little tug, and he looks up at you with a smile, before lazily dragging his tongue down your stomach, circling your belly button. Where he licks, he blows warm air across your skin, cooling the saliva he leaves behind, making goosebumps dance across your body.

You love the way it feels when he does this, when all his attention is focused solely on you, on your pleasure, making sure every single inch of you is worshipped. He takes his time, an intimate method of coping for him, when he can set all the anxiety and the panic to the side, and lose himself in you.

You feel your heartbeat quicken when he reaches the plane above your aching centre, and his gravelly voice rumbles with approval. "God, I can smell you, you smell _delicious_." He breathes the compliment, and your hands are trembling now, breath short, as you wait impatiently for him to put his mouth exactly where you need him most.

He moves his body further down the bed, catching your thighs as he settles and he pulls them over his shoulders. You can feel his breath, hot puffs against you, when he teases you a little further.

" _Please_ Bucky, please." The anticipation is painful now, and you open your mouth to beg again, when Bucky leans in and licks firmly up your dripping pussy. You have no more pleading words, just a long moan of pleasure dropping from your lips at the feeling, and you hold tight to his hair, flexing your hips up to his face.

He responds like a man starved, growling in his hunger for you, his tongue licking up and down your folds, pushing into your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit. He groans into your pussy, and the deep vibrations make your entire body shudder, the feeling starting between your legs, before radiating into the tips of your fingers where it snaps like an electric shock. You try to spread your legs wider, to give him more room, but he catches your thighs and pulls them tight around his head while he works. He relishes the grip you use to keep him in place like this, loves when he can give up control and use you to hold himself down.

" _Fuck_ you taste so good, fucking hell I need this, I need this, I need more," he whispers, his voice cracking as he repeats the words again and again, his tongue moving faster on you.

His reaches up and rubs his calloused palms over your nipples, pinching them gently when he gives a small bite to your clit. You gasp at the feel, your hands gripping the bed sheets, legs curling around his torso, digging your heels into his back to hold him in place.

He taps your wrists, telling you to let go of the sheets, and when you do, Bucky threads his fingers through yours, holding tightly to both of your hands. He looks up from between your legs, meeting your gaze as you watch him. Seeing his mouth latched to your clit, feeling his tongue pushing into you, his blue eyes dark with lust as he watches you revel in the pleasure he's giving you, you can feel yourself tiptoe along the edge. You take a deep breath and with another flick to your clit, the rush of pleasure breaks you, and you come hard, body arching up, a long, guttural moan pulled from deep in your chest. Bucky keeps a firm grip on your hands, his mouth following your cunt when your body moves, continuing to lick and suck, as the shudders roll through your body.

Breathing hard, it takes you a few minutes to come down, and he is so patient, continuing to lap at the sweetness from you, wringing tiny spasms when he flicks the tip of his tongue on your clit every few strokes. You're still panting when Bucky gently unhooks your legs from his shoulders, and slides up your body. When his face is hovering above, you reach behind his head and slowly pull him down, your tongue coming out to lick him, tasting yourself on his lips. You feel him start in surprise at the movement, but he embraces it immediately, moaning into your mouth, burying his hands in your hair to deepen the kiss.

He only breaks apart to raise himself up slightly, and use his leg to roll you onto your stomach, before he stretches your arms above you, caging you beneath him. He keeps _every single inch_ of his body touching yours, from his fingers, down to the tips of his toes. You sigh blissfully, feeling his hard length nestled between your ass cheeks, and with his thick thighs, he pushes up to spread your legs open further. His fingernails scratch lightly on your skin, and he presses slow, wet kisses in a long strip up your back. Folding his arms on either side of you, he angles his hips so he can feel your pussy, and you try to spread your legs wider to help. You can feel him at your folds, grunting as he rubs himself against you, coating his cock in your slick cum, to ease his entrance.

His low groan fills the air around you, when he pushes slowly into you, his forehead pressed into the top of your spine. He stops for a moment, allowing your body to adjust, and giving himself a chance to feel your tight heat. He rolls his hips once, grinding into you, and with your whimper of approval, he begins to fuck you faster.

His lips run across your back, kissing and biting your skin, the delicate salty taste of your sweat fragrant on his tongue. The erotic flavour makes his cock swell harder, and he snaps his hips faster, his eyes narrowing with lust when he catches sight of your ass bouncing with each thrust. Pulling himself up to balance on his metal arm, Bucky places his right hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place, and slams his hips into you again and again, the new angle letting his dick rub perfectly on that spot deep in your pussy that you desperately need.

He lets out a muffled moan, and you hear his hoarse voice murmuring into your skin, "You feel so good, so _good_ , so hot, so fucking _tight, Christ_."

You're struggling to catch your breath, feeling completely overwhelmed by him, the way he gasps with every thrust, the way his lips burn when they touch you, the way his cock stretches and fills every part of your aching cunt. You didn't realise it was possible to be so utterly consumed by someone, but Bucky Barnes has completely surrounded you and turned you inside out.

His lips are suddenly in your ear, and his voice breaks slightly when he whispers "I need to see your face."

He pulls himself slowly from you, making sure it doesn't hurt. You twist to lay on your back, and there is a moment of silence as you stare up at him, his blue eyes so bright, his hair still damp, a trickle of sweat running down his temple. He leans down and carefully presses his lips to yours, before moving his hips and pushing back into you. Your arms are still stretched above your head, and Bucky reaches up and laces his fingers through yours, linking your hands together, palm to palm. He thrusts forward, finding his rhythm again, and you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to hold him in place.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you close your eyes, giving yourself up to the feel of him moving inside you. You can feel the pressure building again in your stomach, tighter and tighter, and when he thrusts once more, the unexpected pressure on your clit knocks you over the edge and you come again with a cry.

Bucky feels you contract around him, your pussy gripping his cock so hard, he nearly passes out. He tries to keep going, to fuck you through your orgasm, but then he feels you glide your tongue up his neck and bite down on his ear, and it's this connection that pushes him over. His hips give one last hard snap, and you hear your name fall repeatedly from his lips, whether profanity or prayer you don't know, but you hold him tight against you as he comes undone, a sound breaking from his throat that sounds vaguely like a sob. 

With his chest pressed firmly to yours, his face still tucked into your neck, you try to take deep gulps of air. With a shaky breath, Bucky raises his head to look down at you, and you feel his heart slamming in his chest, so you modulate your breathing, keeping your eyes locked on his, encouraging him to match you. He stares back, bright blue eyes focused intently on you, and gradually his heart rate slows, finding a new rhythm, one that beats in time with yours.

Humming to himself now, Bucky rolls to his side and pulls you in close, folding you against his chest, dropping light kisses on the top of your still damp hair. His arms are wrapped so tightly around you, his fingers splayed wide to touch as much of your skin as possible. Hooking a thickly muscled calf behind your knees, he tries to shift you even closer, and you burrow deeper into his embrace. Rubbing your cheek against the dark, bristly hairs on his chest, you smile into his skin, and press a delicate kiss right above his heart. 

You can feel his muscles finally loosen and relax, but his grip on you never lessens. Your eyes begin to flutter shut, and the last thing you hear as you drift to sleep is a whisper, so quiet you're not even sure it was real, but you hope with all your heart that you heard Bucky Barnes tell you he loved you.


	3. Calm, relieved, playful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky stalks forward, eyes shining bright, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He tilts his head to the side, watching you.
> 
> “Hope you don’t have any plans tonight, because I’m gonna take my sweet, sweet time with you. That sound okay?”
> 
> You’re still stepping carefully backward, feeling your skin prickle as he mirrors your steps, and you feel a grin tug your lips up at his candid statement. There’s no hesitation when you respond. “Always.”

_I’m coming home. Can’t wait to see you._

It was a text you didn’t expect, if only because he was not a demonstrative person when it came to the written word. He was always perfunctory, preferring to send an image or a three word answer, not because he didn’t enjoy talking to you, but simply because that’s who he was. He expressed his emotions in a multitude of other ways, saving his syllables to whisper in your ear when he was wrapped inside you, murmuring his feelings into your sweaty skin every time you brought him to his knees.

It doesn’t come often, but here it was, the Bucky Barnes you always wait to see. You think this must be him, the _real_ him, James Buchanan Barnes, the sweet, flirty, cocky boy who was so sure of himself and his place in the world, before he became a man carved up and torn apart, remade by the chaos of war.

In these times, he smiles at everything, and my god, when you hear him laugh, it’s like the sun coming out. When he’s excited, the sound echoes off the walls, bouncing around you. When he teases you, it’s a sinfully sexy rumble drawn from deep in his chest, and you can almost taste the sound as it slides down your throat, like melted chocolate. When he scrunches up his nose and gives a small snort, you could almost hear your heart sing.

The best thing of all, is that he _talks_. The relief he feels at a successful mission is so obvious, so palpable, it loosens his tongue. He talks about everything.

The time an excited little girl asked to touch his metal arm.

The time he rode the Cyclone with Steve at Coney Island.

The time he could smell the dirty, metallic scent of blood as it soaked into the grass of a battlefield in Italy.

The time he saw the snowflakes catch in your eyelashes like lace, when you stood arms outstretched in that snowstorm.

Memories and emotions, good and bad, pour from his lips and you catch them all, desperate to bottle the sounds, to rewind and play them back on a day when the clouds reappear in his eyes. You’re so grateful for the trust he places in you at these times.

When he arrives on your doorstep, he is all charm and playfulness, his happiness a tangible thing that shines so brightly. In these instances, sex is not the healing balm he needs to get his mind back in order, to get his anxiety under control. Instead, it’s a real partnership, one he is delighted and eager to share with you.

The other thing about a playful Bucky Barnes? He makes sex a little bit sweet, a little bit dirty, and a whole lot of fun.  


* * *

  
He lays motionless, spreadeagled on your bed. His eyes are closed, and he appears thoroughly relaxed, a sight you rarely see. It’s late afternoon, and the sunlight brightens your bedroom with an orange glow, bathing him in the warm colours. He showered before he arrived, and his brown hair is damp, and a little longer than you remember. He wears dark jeans and black button up, the sleeves rolled up showing you the firm ropes of muscle that run up his forearm. It’s unusual to find him in street clothes, and you savour the rugged handsomeness of him not as a warrior, but as a common man.

“I didn’t hear you, how did you even get in?”

Bucky’s eyes remain closed, but you see a wide smile break across his face at the sound of your voice. He doesn’t answer, but sits up on your bed, to find you relaxing against your door-frame, arms crossed across your chest, wearing a dark blue tank-top and black running shorts, your feet bare. He stares at you unabashedly, letting his eyes roam over every part of your form, trying his damnedest to imprint the image in his head. He’s been thinking about this moment for weeks, and here you are in front of him, your soft smile enough to blind him. Swinging his legs over the bed, he rises quickly to his feet, startling you with the speed behind his movement.

His voice sounds low and husky, so utterly appealing, when he offers his response. “Been thinking about you nonstop for the past two weeks.  Every minute. Every damn hour. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

Stalking toward you, the intense look on his face is enough to unnerve you, and you back away as he comes forward. He calmly follows, eyes shining bright, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He tilts his head to the side, watching you.

“Hope you don’t have any plans tonight, because I’m gonna take my sweet, _sweet_ time with you. That sound okay?”

You’re still stepping carefully backward, feeling your skin prickle as he mirrors your steps, and you feel a grin tug your lips up at his candid statement. There’s no hesitation when you respond. “Always.”

You stop inadvertently when you hit the couch, stumbling slightly and Bucky’s right behind you. He wraps his arms around you, breathing in your scent, dragging his tongue up the back of your neck, and you feel shivers erupt across your body. You can feel his erection pressing into you through the thin fabric of your shorts, forcing a quiet groan from you.

He bends down and delicately licks the shell of your ear, murmuring into you. “Listen to me. We’ve got a long night ahead of us and I intend to fuck you completely senseless, so how about one right now to take the edge off?”

He’s still holding you so tight you can barely breath, your back flush against him, and you hum your agreement with his suggestion, pushing your ass back against him. He chuckles in your ear, and spins you around to face him, hovering his lips over yours before he collapses onto the sofa. His thick thighs are spread wide, and he sets his metal hand in his lap, palm facing up. Raising an eyebrow at you, he wiggles his fingers, beckoning you to sit down.

“I’m all yours. Get over here, use me how you want.” The picture he offers, his dark hair falling forward, blue eyes sparkling with humour, and that _damn metal hand_ , everything crashes together at once, and you give your head a little shake to clear your vision and find your control.

The desire to feel those fingers fill you up consumes you, and you’re almost embarrassed at how quickly you jerk down your shorts, and step between his knees, swinging your legs to bracket his thighs, letting your core brush lightly against his fingertips. Legs trembling in anticipation, you hold yourself above his hand and grip the hem of your tank top, pulling it up and over, tossing it behind you. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, while his eyes drop to run over your breasts, lingering on your nipples, and you notice his jaw is clenched tight as he tries to hold himself still.

Reaching between your legs, you turn his hand into the position you need, pulling two of his fingers up, before sinking slowly down on them with a moan. He braces his hand against your weight, and you give your hips an experimental roll, grinding hard on his fingers.

“ _God_ , Bucky,” you sigh, before leaning forward to balance your hands on his wide shoulders, digging your fingers into the muscle to secure your grip, before lifting your hips up and bringing them down. You can feel the metal plates of his fingers rotating and shifting inside you with each movement, and you let out a shaky sigh at the pleasure. His eyes narrow as he watches, and you see his throat bob when he tries to swallow. Picking up a rhythm, you start moving faster, feeling him curl his fingers inside you, pulling you gently toward him.

“Fuck, look at you,” Bucky breathes, his eyes locked on your face, staring raptly as you fuck yourself on his hand, shamelessly using the hard metal. You tangle a hand in his hair, gripping the strands and tugging his face toward your breasts, and he doesn’t hesitate to catch your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, giving it a gentle bite. Relishing the feel of the scruff on his face as it rubs your skin, you hold his head tightly, letting him swirl his tongue over the delicate bud, loving the way he groans into your skin, before you yank his hair back and pull his face away. His eyes flick up and he gives a little snarl of annoyance, before you press a finger to his lips, silencing.

“I need another finger Bucky. Give me one more.”

He nearly whines at the lust colouring your demand, and immediately complies, adding another finger for you to fuck yourself on. Putting a hand between your legs, you find his thumb and shift it into a position that allows you to rub your clit against the cool metal with each downward thrust. His gaze falls to the view between your legs, nostrils flaring at the sight, and you hear a faint curse pass his lips, when he eyes the wetness covering his hand. His flesh hand clutches your hip, aiding your balance as you move faster, slamming yourself down on his fingers again and again, until you feel the sharp clench in your stomach, and the pleasure ripples through you. Fisting your hands in the collar of his shirt, you bury your face in his neck, and the low moan rolls from your throat. Keeping yourself seated on his hand, grinding your clit hard against his thumb, the orgasm breaks over you again and again.

Both of you remain still, breathing heavily, and Bucky’s voice sounds thick when he finally speaks. “Jesus Christ, that was the _hottest fucking thing_ I’ve ever seen.”

You give him a little smirk, struggling to catch your breath. “Well, it certainly took the edge off.”

His hand leaves your hip, giving your ass a squeeze and soft slap, and he flexes the fingers still buried inside you, grinning when he hears your quick intake of breath.

“Think we need more room to play.” Gently pulling his fingers from you, he rises effortlessly to his feet, wrapping your legs around his waist when he stands. Turning to walk toward the bedroom, he palms the back of your head, bringing your mouth to his, sliding his tongue gently between your lips. You curve your arms tightly around his neck and pull him in for a deep, slow kiss. He stutters mid-step, letting himself sink further into the kiss, humming quietly at the the warm feel of your mouth moving against his.

Having Bucky Barnes standing in your living room, holding your naked body in his arms was wonderful, but you desperately needed to feel his hot skin against yours. Reluctantly breaking away, you give his lower lip a quick nip. “I think we were headed somewhere?”

He laughs at the sassy lilt he hears, and when he strides into your bedroom, he plants a loud, sloppy kiss on your nose before throwing you onto the bed.

You land in the tangle of blankets with a bounce and a giggle, rolling onto your back, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

“So, now what?” You raise an eyebrow in his direction, giving him a thorough one over, much to his amusement.

“Now I get naked, and you’re gonna love it,” he promises, with a decisive nod of his head.

You can feel the smile automatically lift your lips when you hear the brazen statement. “Well, dazzle me Barnes.”

He points a warning finger at you, before starting to unbutton his shirt, revealing more and more of his broad chest. Reaching the last button, he throws open his shirt with a flourish, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from your throat when he pulls the shirt off and throws it at you.

He’s fully focused on his task, as he keeps moving down, giving his hips a deliciously sinful roll when he unbuttons his jeans and slowly pulls the zipper down, throwing a suggestive wink in your direction. He shifts the jeans down inch by inch, off his hips, over his ass, down his thighs, until they pool at his ankles, and he kicks them to the side. Standing in front of you in a pair of tight black boxer briefs, his body leaves little to your imagination, and you give him a low wolf whistle of appreciation.

He barks out a laugh your ogling, and hooks his fingers in the band of his boxers, before he turns around to tease them down. You feel your mouth go dry at the sight of his muscled back, his shoulders flexing with every shift of his arms, when he pulls the boxers completely off, gives them a swing, and tosses them over his shoulder to you.

He slowly turns to face you, a smug smile twisting his lips as he stares you down.

“Like what you see?” he challenges with a cocky grin, hands positioned on his hips in a way that forces your eyes down. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to whimper out loud at the breathtaking view he presents, and opt for a casual shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s okay, I guess.”

He jumps onto the bed, clambering on top of you to pin your body down with a knee between your legs, the bristly hair on his thigh rubbing tantalisingly against your core. Holding you down, he sits back on his heels, his body rising above you, and when you see his thick cock hot and hard in front of you, your fingers itch to touch him. He stretches quickly behind him, reaching for the bed sheet, and he jerks it up and over the top of you both, fluffing it up to make a giant tent. It settles slowly back to the bed, he falls forward and you’re trapped under the blanket with Bucky now kneeling above you.

“You guess, huh? Sure you don’t want to change your answer?”

He pulls your wrists up, securing them above your head, and raises his eyebrows, giving you an out. You decide not to take it, so he gives you a deep growl and ducks down to attack your neck with his teeth. Squealing with ticklish laughter, you fight his hands as he holds you down, struggling to get away, laughing that much harder when he keeps growling at you.

“No, no, stop being a baby, you’re not that ticklish. Come on now, I’m not doing this on purpose.” He sings out, rubbing his beard behind your ear, his flesh hand trailing down to tickle your side, while you squirm away from his fingers. “What’s wrong, don’t you like this?”

Gasping, you fight his hands, breathless with laughter. “Stop, please!”

“Not until you apologise for hurting my feelings. Tell me how much you like me.”

You don’t feel like giving up quite that easily. Curling your leg around his waist, you swing your hips, throwing your weight against him, and he lets himself fall to the side, pulling you on top. Grabbing his wrists, you push his arms above his head and hold them down, throwing him a grin, thoroughly pleased with your work.

“Oh damn,” he says dryly. “How terrible.” You drop your hips, rubbing yourself along his cock, letting him feel the slick warmth between your legs. The desire floods his eyes immediately as you press against him, letting his hard length push against your swollen folds.

Leaning down, you place feather light kisses on his cheek, his chin, his lips. “I like you Bucky Barnes. With or without clothes.”

His mouth quirks up at your response, and he leans his head up to rub his nose against your cheek. “You’re forgiven.”

When you release his hands, his fingers latch instantly onto your waist, and he gives a hard upward thrust of his hips, sliding his cock into you, groaning softly at the feel of your tight walls clamping down on him. You suck in a deep breath, he feels so much bigger in this position, and you try to shift your hips to accommodate him.

“Okay?” He whispers the question, looking intently up at you, holding himself completely still until he’s sure he hasn’t hurt you.

Placing your hands on his chest, you dig your nails into his skin for grip, hearing his breath catch at the needle sharp feel.

Lifting your hips slightly, you slide back down his dick, letting him feel every inch of your pussy. “Yes, okay.” The sound is ground between your teeth, something between a hiss and a moan, as you adjust to the thick feel of him.

Finding a rhythm, you begin to move, hips rising and falling on him, feeling the satisfying stretch every time you push down. He looks up at you, fascinated by the vision above him, allowing you to control the pace and the depth, and all he can think is how damn much he loves this view.

Bucky reaches his hand up to your chest, laying his palm in the valley between your breasts as you ride him, and the cool metal feels so good against your heated skin, as he runs it soothingly up and down. Keeping your hips rolling, you wrap both hands around his wrist and pull his hand up, sucking his fingers into your mouth. You can still taste yourself from earlier, and the smooth feel of the plates shifting against your tongue nearly shoves you over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” you can hear the quiet exclamations roll off his tongue over and over, his chest heaving as he watches. He bucks his hips up hard against your pussy, when you pull his fingers from your mouth and guide his hand between your legs, urging him to touch you with his fingers, his cock still buried deep inside.

He responds instantly, flicking his fingers over your clit with several passes, before pressing firmly against you and rubbing quickly. You can feel the pleasure swooping in your belly, crawling up your limbs, tingling in your fingertips, and you can’t help the harsh pants that leave your throat.

“ _There_ you go, come on, that’s it. Keep going, _come on_.” His words are dark and rough, his encouragement for you dripping with a heavy dose of lust.

He’s moving his fingers faster now, his flesh hand holding tightly to your ass, as you move yourself up and down on him. With a light pinch on your clit, and a hard thrust into you, the orgasm slams into you, and his name falls from your lips as you cry out. Bucky’s eyes never leave you, he keeps the pressure on your clit, continuing to drive his hips up, while he helps you through the haze of pleasure.

Still trying to breath as the waves begin to recede, you collapse forward, snuggling into his chest, and his hands move up and down your back in comforting strokes. You can feel him still hard inside you, but he gives you a chance to recover before continuing.

Sighing into his neck, he turns his face and presses a kiss to your hair, smiling at the tickle of your breath.

“You really are something.” He offers the comment quietly, and you lift you head from his chest to press a light kiss on his collarbone.

Tightening his arms around you, he rolls over, switching positions so he’s on top, bracing himself up so he can look down at you. You feel his cock twitch inside you and he gives a few slow, lazy pumps of his hips as his eyes wander over your face.

“Wish I could take a picture of this. Something just for me, to get through those long nights away.” He grins at you, lifting an eyebrow to suggest he may not be kidding.

You reach your hand up and flick his nose. “You can keep wishing Barnes, that’s not happening.”

He throws his head back with a loud laugh, before he leans down to rub his beard against your neck, earning him a smack when you laugh and try to wiggle away.

“Fine, visual photos it is then.” You look up at him curiously, unsure what he means. He slides his cock out of you, and sits back on his heels, opening your legs wide and pushing your knees down to the bed, leaving you completely open to him.

“Stretch your arms above your head,” he murmurs, fingers massaging your thighs. “Keep them up there for me.” Your motions feel sluggish, your body so incredibly comfortable after the pleasure he’s coaxed from it, it takes you a minute to comply.

He’s silent as his eyes run over you. Sometimes the way he looks at you is more intense, burns hotter and fiercer than his actual touch, and you think it might be enough to set your skin on fire.

Long minutes pass while he holds you open and drinks his fill. His eyes follow the line of your neck, pause for long moments on your breasts, appreciating the way your nipples harden under his burning stare. He keeps looking, travelling the bumps and dips of your body, the scars and marks that make you unique, make you his.

Every so often, he places his metal hand on your skin and simply rests it there, staring intently for long periods at the contrast between his hand and your skin.

“Bucky? What are you doing?” The question slips softly from your lips.

Bucky hums, examining his fingers as they flex against you. “Want to keep this, memorise it all. So I can remember I was here with you.”

The raw emotion in his voice makes you close your eyes. You feel exposed beyond belief, and his intense perusal is so different from the heated experiences the two of you typically share. Its different in a way that is undefinable, and far more intimate than anything you’ve ever felt.

He swings his gaze from your belly to your thighs, down over your knees, lingering on the chipped purple polish that covers your toes.

And then he looks back up and his eyes focus directly on the dripping view between your legs. “Mmm, best for last,” he mumbles under his breath. He licks his lips, and you feel your skin heat up, blushing under his scrutiny. You start to fidget, reaching your hand down, feeling the need to cover _something_ , and he gently slaps it back in place.

“Stop.” His voice is stern, commanding, and you give a huff of frustration when he shoots you a warning look, that quickly melts into a cheeky grin.

Running his hands down your thighs, he catches your knees and picks your legs up, settling your calves on his shoulders. His dark hair falls forward when he leans into you, pushing down until you’re bent in half, knees nearly touching your shoulders. It’s a hard stretch, and he moves slowly, smoothly, giving your muscles time to adjust. His hands are splayed flat on the bed, palms resting on either side of your face, and his blue eyes burn darker with his concentration. He shifts his hips, letting his cock rub against your folds, soaking his length in your slickness, his tip bumping your clit with every few strokes. Reaching behind your head, he grips your hair and lifts your mouth to his, lips hard and hungry when they connect with yours.

You feel his tongue wrap around yours in the same moment he pushes his cock into you, sinking down as far as he can, until he’s completely buried. It’s so _tight_ , and he feels the light pulse from your last orgasm fluttering around his dick, tearing a deep groan from him. The roughness of his breath fills you, and you swallow the sound, wrapping your fingers tightly around his strong forearms.

 _God he fills you up so fucking well_. It’s the only coherent thought left in your head. The way he barely pulls out and shoves himself back in, hitting that spot deep inside you, makes your stomach flip.

His mouth stays locked on yours, he’s completely unwilling to lose that connection. Snapping his hips faster, he finds a pace that has you seeing stars, throwing himself into every movement, and you feel him bottom out inside you with every single thrust.

There’s nothing left in the world but the two of you, your soft pants, his harsh grunts, a symphony of filthy, explicit music filling the room around you. The rapid rise and fall of his chest is enough to tell you he’s close, and with each thrust he grinds harder against your clit, again and again, wordlessly asking you to give him just one more. It’s a sizzling feeling when the final orgasm crackles through you, lighting you up from the base of your spine, and you can’t help the scream that leaves your lips. He catches the sound, living for the feel of you clinging tightly to him as you find your release.

His arms are shaking, his knees are weak, and the sweat is rolling down his back when he feels the familiar tug take hold of him. His body goes tight, rigid, his hold on you strong enough to bruise, and you feel the deep vibrations of his moan rattle through you when he comes, spilling himself inside you.  
  


* * *

  
The black sky has faded to an inky blue, dawn chasing the moonlight away, before the two of you were finally quiet. You feel achy and used and so fucking satisfied. His voice slightly hoarse from talking, Bucky lay with his head on your stomach, an arm curved around your waist, his fingers drawing mindless patterns on your skin. His hair keeps falling across his face and you comb your fingers through it, smoothing it back, listening to his even breathing. When he speaks, the sound is muffled, his mouth pressed to your skin.

“I plan on being here the rest of tonight, and all day tomorrow, and the day after, and maybe forever after that. Is that okay?”

Your heart hammers in your chest at the intent and intensity you hear, and you give him the word he longs to hear, the one you love saying. “Always.”

He sounds tired, but happy, when you hear his soft laugh. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”

 

* * *

  
The buttery smell of pancakes is the first thing you notice when you open your eyes. Yawning, you stretch your arms above your head, sighing at the feeling. It was your favourite kind of sore, the kind following a long night in bed with an enthusiastic and very capable Bucky Barnes. Reaching to the floor, you pick up his black button-up, still lying in a crumpled pile. It reaches your mid-thigh and you have to roll the sleeves up three times, but it smells just like him, and there’s no way he’s getting it back.

Tiptoeing to the bedroom door, you peak through the the living room and into the kitchen. His back to you, Bucky stands at the stove dressed in low-slung black sweatpants, the muscles in his back rolling and shifting as he moves. You observe him shamelessly for a long time, appreciating the beautiful view. The sound of Glenn Miller plays faintly from his phone, and you hear him humming along as he flips pancakes. Padding quietly into the kitchen, you reach the stove and throw your arms around him, hugging him tight, pressing your lips to his back, and closing your eyes at the cinnamon taste of his skin. You feel the vibration of his chest, rumbling happily at the feel of your fingers.

He looks over his shoulder, smiling down at you, and gestures with the spatula to the small table in your kitchen window. “Have a seat, keep me company.” You settle onto the chair, watching as he navigates your kitchen, turning every so often to sing you a line from his favourite playlist, a mix of Glenn Miller and Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong.

It’s only a few more minutes before he’s places a plate heaped with pancakes, drenched in thick maple syrup, in front of you, before he drops into the opposite seat, and picks up his fork. You take one bite, before whining in absolute pleasure at the taste. “You’re a man of many talents Barnes, but I think this might be the one I like best.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs at the seriousness of your statement, graciously accepting the compliment. You eat in companionable silence, simply enjoying the comforting feel of the other’s presence, while the sunlight cascades through the windows, lighting up the small kitchen.

It was a tender, intimate moment, the kind you wished you could photograph, hold tight and revisit when everything surrounding the two of you inevitably flipped upside down. You propped your elbow on the table and were absentmindedly fluttering your fingers in the dust motes that hung in the shaft of sunlight, gazing out into the cool blue morning when Bucky breaks the silence.

“I love you.”

His voice is quiet when he says the words, wanting you to hear him, but terrified that you actually will. You feel your heart jump when you turn to look at him, and he is watching you so intently. He’s walked this earth for more than a century, and in that time he’s never said this before, not once, not to anyone. He tentatively slides his fingers across the table and touches his palm to yours, anchoring your hands together, propping up his elbow so his forearm is flush against yours. The corners of your lips curve up, a smile lighting up your face.

The soft buzz from his phone interrupts, and you see him hesitate before picking it up. A quick glance at the screen, and you recognise the resignation as it settles in his features. He sighs and sets the phone down carefully, staring at the table while he searches for his voice, before he looks up at you with a wistful smile.

“I’ve gotta go.”

The emotions race across his face, light and dark competing. The frustration, the anxiety, the way his muscles immediately tense, everything coloured with a brush of anger, and you see the shadow of the Soldier who is so eager to claw his way to the surface.

Standing from your stool, you step in front of where he sits, his eyes closed, his shoulders slumping in disappointment at the thought of walking out your door again. Nudging his knees apart you step into his personal space and cup his face in your hands, ghosting your thumbs over the delicate eyelids. His hands curl around your waist to pull you in close, his eyes opening to flicker uncertainly over your face, praying fiercely that _once again_ , you would understand why he needs to leave.

You lean forward to lick the maple syrup from the corner of his mouth, and press a sticky kiss to his nose. He chuckles softly at the feeling, wrinkling his nose and grinning up at you.

“I love you too Bucky Barnes.”

The sheer happiness that floods his face takes your breath away. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell you all the reasons _why_ he loves you, how much, and when he knew, all the romantic things people say in these situations, but the pure emotion in your statement overwhelms him, and he simply nods instead, his response stuck in his throat, blocked by the tears that suddenly threaten to fall.

You smile at the man in front of you, embracing every single shade you see, and wondering how on earth it was possible to love someone this much. He carries a crushing burden of responsibility on his shoulders, and he will do so until the end of his days. You know this will never, ever change. It will always be in the background, threatening to rip him away at any moment, but there was nothing to do but ignore that possibility.

He was here, he was happy, he loved you, and really, that’s all you ever wanted.

Leaning forward, you touch your lips gently to his forehead. “You go save the world Buck. When you come home, I’ll be waiting.”


End file.
